


Shaken

by 2nd2ndalto



Series: Reprieve [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Post Episode: s02e09 The Satan Pit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 12:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2nd2ndalto/pseuds/2nd2ndalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually, she loves the softly lit coral walls of the TARDIS, usually finds them soothing. Right now it feels as if they're closing in on her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shaken

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately following The Satan Pit. Written as a bit of a prequel to Reprieve (Rest for the Wicked). Originally posted 03-April-2010.

Rose sinks unsteadily into the captain's chair, nails gripping the seat. She feels dizzy, thinks she can hear her heart pounding in her ears. It feels like her body might float away if she doesn't hold tight to something.

The Doctor's already begun his manic dance around the console, preparing to send them back into the time vortex. Rose knows he's a bit worried about the TARDIS after her solo trip into the pit, but other than that, he seems to have recovered remarkably well.

Rose has learned a lot about resilience since travelling with him, and she can certainly brush off a bad day more successfully than she once could, but this... She thinks it'll be a while before she can brush off Krop Tor.

Lost in her thoughts, Rose hasn't noticed the Doctor standing motionless in front of her. His manic energy has faded, only to be replaced by a look of anxious concern. Immediately, Rose is on alert. "What's wrong, Doctor?" She glances at the TARDIS monitor, expecting blinking lights and alarms signalling some crisis they'll need to attend to immediately.

"Rose," he says quietly, "are you all right?" He moves a step closer, eyes searching her face.

"Yeah! Yeah, fine. Just..." she squeezes her eyes shut, trying to clear her head. "Just tired, I guess."

He's not convinced. "May I?" He brushes her hair from her face and gently presses the back of his hand to her forehead, her cheeks. "thirty-seven degrees," he murmurs, "afebrile..." He carefully pries her right hand from the captain's chair, lays two fingers against the inside of her wrist. His brow creases. "Rose, your heart is racing." He tilts his head, looking worriedly into her eyes.

Rose is pretty sure she's about to be thoroughly sonicked, and she's abruptly overwhelmed by the attention, just wants to be alone. She suddenly feels claustrophobic, despite the size of the ship. She wrenches her hand from the Doctor's grasp and jumps down from the captain's chair.

"I'm fine, I told you," she blurts out hurriedly. "I'm just gonna..." she trails off, backing away from him, tripping over her own feet as she rushes from the room. She hears him call after her as she half-runs down the corridor, but he doesn't follow. She's grateful for this.

If she can just get away for a minute, she'll be fine. She is fine. She can handle this, always does. She's hurrying through the ship, thinks if she just goes far enough, she'll be able to breathe properly. It feels better to keep moving. Usually, she loves the softly lit coral walls of the TARDIS, usually finds them soothing. Right now it feels as if they're closing in on her.

Rose has gone so far into the labyrinth of the TARDIS she isn't quite sure where she is now. She opens a door at random and breathes a sigh of relief.

The Doctor has joked that this room is very Hogwarts. Above, Rose can see a clear night sky, millions of stars twinkling softly. Below, there are gardens and hedges, little paths reaching out in all directions, inviting benches and a gurgling fountain. She knows that the sky isn't exactly real, but she loves this room, always has. It feels as if there might almost be enough room to breathe here.

Rose seats herself heavily on a stone bench, tries to concentrate on the play of the water in the fountain instead of the barely contained panic rising in her chest. She's not sure where this came from. She's angry at herself for not being able to cope better than this, for not just being able to blow this off.

She almost lost him. They said he was dead. She could have lost him. Rose tries to concentrate on breathing, tries to think, "inhale, exhale", but soon she feels like she's fighting for air, can barely get enough oxygen into her lungs. Her chest tightens and she feels a tingling rush in her hands and feet.

She's gasping, can't breathe, and then she feels arms tight around her and there he is, she hasn't lost him, not this time. Something breaks in her chest and the gasps turn to sobs and she's clinging to him like her life depends on it. Maybe it does.

The Doctor is kneeling in front of her, holding her close as her body shakes in his embrace, as her tears soak his jacket. She's can't remember crying like this before, like the sobs are being wrenched from her chest. On some level, Rose registers hands rubbing soothingly at her back, comforting sounds murmured in her ear. He's rocking her gently back and forth as her tears slowly dry up, as her breath slowly returns to something close to normal.

The Doctor pulls back to look at her, and she can see the tension in the set of his jaw, in his wide eyes. "Rose." His voice is rough with sympathy.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Her face crumples and the tears begin again. Oh, this is ridiculous. It's completely out of her control.

"Rose, it's okay, you're all right," he gathers her up again, one hand stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry," she gasps out again between sobs. She knows she should be embarrassed, but she just can't seem to get a hold of herself enough to care.

He pulls back to meet her gaze. She can't bear the way he's looking at her, like she's going to shatter into little pieces.

"Rose, what could you possibly have to be sorry for? It's okay to feel anxious, and it's okay to be afraid. Your body is having a completely normal reaction to a very stressful situation. From what I gathered, you handled yourself and everyone else brilliantly while I was gone. You're allowed to fall apart a bit when it's all said and done. Rose, it's okay. I'm so proud of you." He gazes earnestly at her.

"But," she protests, her voice cracking, "I don't need to fall apart." She wrinkles her nose in distaste. "I can do this. I can handle it."

He's shaking his head, smiling ruefully. "Rose, even I sometimes can't handle it as well as I'd like to. Even I fall apart a little bit sometimes. I've just had a lot more practice coping than you have." His hand cups her face, thumb stroking her cheek. She's recovered enough to think she must look a mess.

Rose breathes a shaky sigh, and when it seems the tears have actually stopped this time, the Doctor rises from his crouched position to sit next to her on the bench. He takes her hand. They're silent for a few moments. Eventually she speaks, has to say it.

"I could have lost you," she whispers, still horrified.

She hears him inhale, feels him about to disagree, and then he just sighs. "I'm sorry," he says instead.

Rose squeezes his hand. For now, it's enough that he acknowledges it, that he that he doesn't just sweep it under the carpet like he does most days.

"Don't let it happen again," she laughs weakly.

"I'll always do my best." He turns, presses his lips to her forehead. "I'm sorry, Rose."

"I know," she breathes. She knows he is. Knows, too, that he would make the same decisions a second time. It's who he is.

His face pressed to her hair now, she can feel the tension in his breath.

"I... losing you, Rose... I can't bear the thought of it either." He rushes the words, says them almost as if he's confessing some heinous crime, and she's abruptly overwhelmed with affection. As much as he may rant and babble, she knows this sort of talking isn't easy for him. Impulsively, Rose pulls back and presses a kiss to his lips.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere," she reasons, trying for a lighter tone, "you're stuck with me."

The Doctor looks a little stunned. After a moment, he seems to recover. Cupping her chin, he presses his lips tentatively to hers, stays there long enough for her to feel his breath on her cheek, long enough for her eyelids to flutter closed.

He pulls back. "I'm holding you to that," he says seriously.

His eyes search her face again, and Rose knows he's itching to check her pulse or shine a light in her eyes.

"I'm okay now, really I am." She takes a deep breath, shakes her head. "I'm -"

"Nope," he interrupts, "no more apologies. Come on. Let's put you to bed."

Rose takes his proffered hand and follows, not sure bed is really what she wants. She is exhausted, there's no denying it. Her head is pounding, her eyes itch and her shoulders ache.

It's not the first time the Doctor's walked her to her room at the end of the night. Sometimes, this culminates in a hasty peck on her cheek, the Doctor striding off down the corridor with his hands in his pockets. Other times, the evening tails off in long and rambling stories as they linger outside Rose's door, the Doctor in his element, Rose struggling to keep her eyes open.

Tonight is different. Tonight he follows her into her room, sits at her dressing table as she changes into pyjamas in the bathroom. He lingers as she climbs into bed, moves forward to pull sheets and blankets up to her chin.

The Doctor leans down to press another kiss to her forehead and then turns to leave the room. Just the sight of his retreating form is enough to bring a fresh wave of panic.

"Doctor?" she blurts out unthinkingly.

He turns to meet her gaze.

"Could you... stay?"

For a moment he doesn't respond, his expression guarded.

"I don't mean," Rose blunders on, gestures back and forth between the two of them. The kiss - she wasn't asking, didn't mean that. "Just sleeping," she clarifies, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. Wait - does he look... disappointed?

The look is gone as soon as she registers it. The Doctor's posture relaxes and he smiles softly at her. "Yes, Rose, of course I'll stay."

He sits on the edge of the bed to untie his trainers, drapes his jacket over a chair. She budges up, making room for him. He hesitates at the edge of the bed and she pulls the covers back, an invitation. He accepts. She's on her side, curled towards him. He settles on his back, reaches for her hand under the covers. For a time, they're silent.

"You know, I meant what I said before," he says eventually, turns his head to meet her gaze. "About being proud of you," he clarifies. "While Danny was walking you down to the hull, Zach told me what you did. How you took control of the situation, galvanized the troops..." he trails off. "Maybe I don't say it enough, but I'm just so very proud of you. You're so good at this - you always know just what to say, just what to do... You're brilliant, you really are. You amaze me, Rose Tyler, every day," he finishes solemnly.

Rose is speechless. "Thanks," she mumbles eventually. Then she rallies. "I should lose my mind more often if it gets you sweet-talking me like this." She grins at him.

He squeezes her hand, grins back. "Or," he considers, "I could just increase the frequency of the sweet-talk, if it helps maintain your sanity." Rose laughs and then there's silence again, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Did Zach tell you..." she ventures after a moment, "I... would've stayed." She glances at him.

"Yes," he whispers, his face unreadable.

There's more quiet, silent except for the TARDIS' soft hum.

Then, "Rose.. the other part, in the garden. I meant that, too. What I said." He sounds so adorably awkward, Rose is pretty sure she knows which part he means.

"Now you're just asking for another snog," she teases, wanting to break the tension for him.

He grins back, looks a little relieved. "Is that what we were doing?" His brow creases in mock confusion. "I was under the impression that snogging involved a bit more..."

"Tongue?" Rose provides cheekily.

"Yes, that," he agrees, eyes crinkling with laughter.

"Could do next time." Rose suggests, not bashful at all now.

Where has this come from? They've spent two years dancing around just the possibility of this subject, and suddenly they're talking about snogging as if it were as inconsequential as the weather. Rose supposes it's the horror of the day breaking down these walls, making them both say and do things they normally wouldn't.

"Don't think I'll forget an offer like that," he warns, raising an eyebrow. Now Rose just giggles in reply.

"Tonight, though," he deftly changes the subject, "sleep."

He reaches for her, gathers her against his lean body so her head rests comfortably in the space between his shoulder and his chest. It's very, very pleasant, and Rose can't help the silly grin that spreads across her face, thankfully hidden from him with her head tucked into his warmth.

"I could give you something," he offers after a while. "To help you sleep? Either telepathic or pharmaceutical?"

Rose considers for a moment. "Can we try this first?" She squeezes closer as if to clarify. "I mean, unless you..."

"No, this is... fine," he replies softly. "Unless you're implying that I bore you into unconsciousness," he considers after a moment, giving her a squeeze.

"Not normally, no."

"Well, then."

Rose feels herself starting to drift now, and she decides this might be her favourite way to fall asleep, breathing in the Doctor's familiar scent as she cuddles against him, the feel of his arm wrapped comfortingly around her.

"You won't... leave?" It occurs to her to wonder, to make sure. She's not feeling as panicky now, but still. She'd very much like not to be alone, tonight.

"Not unless you ask me to."

"I won't."

"You might want to reconsider that. For all you know, I might suffer from any number of sleep disorders: bruxism, parasomnias, somnambulism. And those are just the human variants."

Rose giggles. "Time Lords have sleep disorders?" She's barely conscious now, and it's making everything twice as funny. "I thought you hardly needed to sleep."

"Makes them that much worse," he retorts, his voice rising half an octave. "Less time to manifest. And not just that - I might snore like a freight train."

"The oncoming snore," Rose giggles against his chest.

The Doctor groans. "Right, then, that was truly awful. No more talking for you."

Rose giggles again.

"And no drooling on my shirt," he instructs just before she drifts off.


End file.
